Press Darlings lyrics

We are guilty We are beyond hope We beg to differ We are a terminal case Press Darlings Press Darlings Press Darlings Press Darlings We depress The Press Darlings We're on the outside But we're not looking in We are the vaseline gang We don't play your little games And if evil be the food of genius There aren't many demons around If passion ends in fashion Nick Kent is the best dressed man in town Are we different? No, we are exactly the same There are no boxes for us The ones you love to hate So read on And if evil be the food of genius There aren't many demons around If passion end in fashion Bushell is the best dressed man in town (And they tell fibs)